


Offcuts from the Tailors

by LelithSugar



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Body Worship, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, Established Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, Smut, Tags May Change, Vignette, Yoga, lockdown cockdown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: A place for Kingsman pieces not big enough to warrant their own fics. Each chapter will be a whole piece in its own right (or as much as is going to happen, anyway!) so though this may never be tagged 'completed' it is in effect complete at all times.1. Harry's thoughts on Eggsy's yoga practice. (M, soft smut, no warnings)2. Pride month hanky code shenanigans (M, implied smut, implied kink, mostly fluff)
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin
Comments: 29
Kudos: 78





	1. Salutation

**Author's Note:**

> Hi gang! Just... continuing to do my bit to bring a little light entertainment for you. Today's offering just hijacked my hands and refused to let me write anything else until I put it up so... enjoy!

Salutation

It's a breezy but warm late spring day and Eggsy is doing yoga on the patio at HQ. 

Harry doesn’t know if he knows he’s watching him, sipping his lunchtime cappuccino, and doesn’t think it would make any difference either way: it’s a common enough occurrence that at least by now Harry is able to coordinate his cup to his mouth whilst he enjoys the view, which is a considerable devlopment. Practice makes perfect.

The problem is not that Harry gets sucked into trying to translate any of those poses into sex positions, as he knows people assume he might, because the half-dozen or so of their usual bedroom rostre have been perfected to allow all the satisfaction without the contortion. Although he will acknowledge - watching Eggsy sit into a deep squat, one foot across his other knee - that his phenomenal core strength probably does them both more favours than he regularly appreciates. 

No - Harry can simply admire the poise with which Eggsy flows from one stance into the next, stretching out and up and over without a tremble or a grimace, breathing deep into his practice. It would be difficult not to notice the way the slow, strong movements bring out strips of muscle otherwise unseen - under his arms, down the backs of his shoulders, in the jut of his ankle as he switches from a point to a flex - and others see that too. They pause now and then to watch in awe as Eggsy folds himself up double and then deeper, or puts his hands on the ground, his knees into the backs of his elbows and lifts himself seemingly effortlessly, no spring, into a handstand.

There has already been plenty of occasion, more privately, to think about how Harry would access the tender treats of his body so intricately positioned: his relaxed mouth, his round arse; the bulge of his cock and balls, evidently soft but perpetually prominent in the flimsy shorts he exercises in, the drape of their material suggesting looseness whilst magically skimming every tensely defined curve of his buttocks and thighs. To wonder how long Eggsy could hold each pose with his legs shaking, eyes fixed on his distant point to maintain his balance, weight rooted through whatever obscure centre keeps him steady, with Harry’s hands gently peeling away enough clothing to introduce pleasure to his tantric focus. So he has no need to interrupt Eggsy’s hard-won Hummingbird pose with the suggestion, even in his mind.

None of this is a problem.

The issue is that other people look at Eggsy - and look at Harry looking at Eggsy - and it doesn’t matter how pure Harry's thoughts are, because they'll think it anyway on his behalf. And if a simple rest in Downward Dog gets him those eyes, Harry's going to go back inside and get another coffee before he moves on to the Plow. 


	2. Hold Your Colour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pride month hanky code shenanigans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got some major PWP projects in progress   
> (supposedly... projects without progress?!) But here's a little something to snack on.
> 
> Fair warning, if you're about to go googling the hanky code, that there are a fair few interpretations and of course there are some problematic bits in its history... but none of those are intrinsic to or mentioned here.

Hold Your Colour

It starts with Pride.

Half the shops in Mayfair have gone all out with their window displays, and Saville Row is maintaining its usual tone but Dagonet applies the small-but-noticeable rainbow heart decal to the corner of the window. It will stay there now, they decide, year round: next June Kingsman will raise bunting.

On Monday morning, Eggsy presents Harry with a rainbow striped square of silk:  highly dubious quality, appalling stitching and the ubiquitous fold lines of having spent a long time in a trans-continental jiffybag. He's about to question it when he realises why, and spots Eggsy’s own pocket square: wide diagonal stripes of pink, purple and blue. 

“I hope you don't mind, that I went for-” he trails off, pulling the corners to a neat point and it's a strong look on him, somehow, despite the fabric. “Gotta stand up and be counted, ain't ya.”

“Absolutely,” says Harry, pulling him forward by the hands for a quick but firm kiss on the lips that is in part to distract Harry from the abrupt and disarming urge to burst into tears. “I'm very proud of you, too.”

He almost wishes the old Arthur were still alive, just to get to watch the strop he'd pitch. 

It's only that evening when Eggsy rolls the pair of silk - “silk” - squares and slots them into the organiser in the dresser that Harry realises what they've been pressing on in his mind.

"I've been trying to work out all day what those remind me of. The old hanky code."

“You what?”

Of course Eggsy isn't familiar, because that culture had all but died out before he was born, let alone old enough to go to nightclubs (or anywhere less savoury), or even realised he was interested in men.... whichever order those things happened in. He happened to have gone from peeking from the proverbial closet to being engaged to a man in a couple of short years, a significant chunk of which he's spent saving the world from various improbable disasters: cruising has never really had a chance to feature. 

Harry treats him to a very condensed version - a pocket history, if you will - and a couple of agreed upon google references. 

"Of course, there being different versions makes it a distressingly inexact science. Some look like they're universal, though, you see? And which pocket you favoured indicated which, uh…"

“Top or bottom?” Eggsy is evidently delighted by the entire idea. 

“Precisely. Top left, bottom right, I think.” Was it? 

“My right or your right?” Harry's pause, the sudden blankness on his face makes it obvious he has no idea. “Well you're the only one I'm picking up and I reckon you catch on quick enough.”

And so it evolves, quickly and smoothly, into a way for Eggsy to wind Harry up. 

He draws plenty of attention to his brand new navy pocket square and then pounces on Harry the moment they're alone, lubed and plugged and so, so ready to make good on what that little folded hanky promised. The next time it makes an appearance Harry spends all day on the verge of erection, waiting for it, and isn't disappointed.

Another day, a pale blue square makes for a very interesting lunch break. 

The morning after they get carried away with the cuffs, a new leather paddle and a trusty riding crop that even at pulled force leaves the most delicious marks,  Eggsy’s pocket is accented by black and charcoal silk that would nicely match the bruises nobody can see.  _ This is what I like, _ it whispers to Harry whilst Eggsy carries on about his day, grinning, hiding his lustful, filthy pride in plain sight. 

Sometimes, if he thinks Harry hasn't noticed or there might be ambiguity as to his choice, he will make a point of it _. “Do you like this colour on me, Harry?” “What shade would you call this? Hunter green?”_ Or asking for help finding the exact shade he's  _ in the mood for today  _ which makes the point so well he then doesn't even have to wear his choice, although he usually will just to tease, just to remind Harry over a dull Intel meeting what might be waiting for him when he gets home. 

There's something to it, then, almost undoubtably, when Eggsy trots down the stairs for their brunch double date in a charcoal suit, a grey shirt and a bright pink pocket square. 

“You look very handsome." He looks devastating, but it would be terribly rude to their brunch company to get too involved now. Harry has a poor enough reputation for timekeeping as it is. "That’s an unusual choice, you don't wear pink often.” 

“Fuschia, Harry, not pink. It's just a fuschia kinda day,” Eggsy grins, and that wink will be written on Harry's coroners report. 

Of course, as soon as Eggsy leaves the room Harry checks the list, and spends the rest of the damn morning as pink as Eggsy’s pocket square.

**Author's Note:**

> Please do let me know if you enjoyed! This is going to be a collection as chapters and they likely won't be related. Sometimes I just jot little pieces down and I actually quite like some of them so thought it might be nice to set them free. Who knows what you'll get next?
> 
> As always, you can find me on [twitter ](https://www.twitter.com/agentsnakebite) and [ tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/randomactsofviolence). I'd love to meet you!


End file.
